


New Old Stock

by signalbeam



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Age Difference, Electricity, F/F, Medical Kink, Post-Canon, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 08:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: Makoto takes it upon herself to return Akira’s stash of medical supplies to Takemi’s clinic after Akira leaves Tokyo. Takemi's grasp of medical ethics is, once again, dubious.





	New Old Stock

The clinic in Yongen was empty when Makoto came in, but there was evidence of recent activity: toys left in an open bin in the back, magazines on a rack in disarray, a half-depleted business card holder. There were fresh flowers in a vase, not too dissimilar from a graduation bouquet: camellias, bright blue irises, peonies. Makoto had graduated from high school just weeks before herself. She supposed the florist had those on discount. 

The doctor was with a patient when she came in. She sat with a bag on her lap and waited for her to come out. A few minutes later, the door opened. 

She had not jumped in blind. Makoto had asked Akira what to expect, and he had said, more or less, that Dr. Takemi was young and a sharp dresser, and probably a sadist. There were pictures of Takemi presenting at a conference, dressed in a skirt suit and a nametag clipped onto her blazer; her expression then had been bored, but subtly satisfied with her work. So, Makoto knew what to expect, face-wise. What she hadn’t expected was that the Takemi in the conference wouldn’t be a thing like Takemi in the office: her short dress, her spiked choker, her effortless legs, which she got a glimpse of before Takemi retreated behind the desk. 

“I’ll see you next week for follow up,” she said to the patient, chewing on the end of her pen casually as she flipped through her appointment book. “How about Friday? No? I usually don’t come in on Saturday, but if you come by around noon, I’ll be here. Yeah, it’s nothing. Take care.” 

The patient left. Takemi stayed in her office space, not looking up. Makoto bit her lip. She unzipped her bag, arranging the items inside carefully. Takemi’s eyes focused on her, then returned to her work. Makoto went to the front desk. 

“I’m here to return something,” Makoto said. 

“This isn’t a lost and found. Take them to the police or throw them away. It’s not my business.”

“It’s medicine.” She leaned forward so Takemi could see what was in the bag. “I believe it’s yours.”

“If you’re trying to blackmail me, you’re not doing a good job,” Takemi said. “All you have are bottles and IV bags. You can get those anywhere.” 

“They’re from a friend of mine, Akira Kurusu. You sold these to him last year, I believe. I’m just returning some unused merchandise.” 

“I can confirm that he was a patient here, but sorry, I’m not taking those,” Takemi said, her voice becoming firmer. Her gaze, which had just been cool before, was now like a solid wall of hostility. Makoto couldn’t understand what had brought this on; she pressed forward. 

“He said he bought them here, so I don’t understand why you won’t take them.”

“What’s your proof that he bought them here? Is there a receipt? Is there video footage of him buying anything here?” Takemi tapped her pen against her desk with each objection she listed. Makoto’s frustration ticked up three notches. “This is a private clinic. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re trying to sell me drugs.” 

“That’ll look bad for you, too,” Makoto said. “Your reputation will suffer if people hear that your clinic’s selling illegal substances.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” Takemi said. Her legs, beneath her desk, crossed and uncrossed. Makoto found herself checking Takemi for any signs of a hidden weapon or tape recorder, or even a gun. Takemi laughed and shook her head. “What you should worry about is your future career. If this is your first undercover mission, I feel sorry for you. You blew your cover in five minutes.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Sending a nice rookie like you after the muscleheads?” Takemi said. The blatant condescension in her eyes made Makoto flush from anger. “Really, you should’ve gone in first. At least then you’d have the element of surprise. You officers have no sense of strategy.” 

“I’m not a police officer,” Makoto snapped. “This is ridiculous! You must know I’m a…” And she went silent as the implications of Takemi’s obtuseness struck her. She was protecting him. “I really do know Akira,” she said. “Take my picture and send him a message. You’ll see.” 

“I don’t trust digital communications these days. But there is one way I can check. If you are what you say you are, there are signs.” Takemi’s pen tapped against the desk again. “Submit to an examination,” she said. “And then we’ll talk.” 

“Fine,” Makoto said, and slapped the desk with her hand. She was so frustrated she felt ready to rip her own shirt in two and throw off her bra. “I’ll do it.” 

 

***

 

Five minutes later, she was filling out a new patient form while Takemi got her tests ready. The drop off from fighting with an insouciant doctor to filling out a new patient intake form was so sharp that she had come back to her senses. 

No allergies. No significant medical issues. Sae had made her get a pap smear a few months ago, in June or July. Either way she wouldn’t need another one just yet. She included a wrist strain from a year and a half ago. A Shadow had once broken eight of her ribs by ramming into her with its horse, but a cat monster had patched her right back up. Once she had gotten a concussion. And she had been stabbed a few times. There was no use in adding those. Would the doctor believe her if she did? The healing spells had patched her up to the point where it was impossible to see any evidence of these wounds. What was it that the doctor could sense? Had she bluffed? 

A rap on the door. It opened a second later. 

“Ready?” Takemi said. She took the clipboard from Makoto’s hands and ran her eyes down it. “Good, looks like there no major issues. Keep your neck straight for me for a moment. Have you ever relaxed your shoulders in your lifetime? I thought so.”

“I’m not here to play,” she said. “When are we going to start?” 

“You’re the one asking for it,” Takemi said. She reached behind her and pulled over a machine with electrodes piled on top like a package of cooked noodles. She applied the electrodes with skill that Makoto wouldn’t have expected from a family practice doctor, who theoretically only treated people from this old-fashioned neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly rough or cold, but it was efficient and professional. Takemi’s nails parted her hair, her cool fingertips pressed the electrodes into her scalp, temples, forehead. Light tugs on the electrodes made Makoto’s jaw clench. It wasn’t painful, but it made her heart beat faster. “You’ll feel a light buzzing sensation. Some people say it feels like getting shocked with static electricity, but it won’t hurt much more than that. Keep your eyes closed and don’t move and this will be over in five minutes. Ready?” 

Makoto nodded and shut her eyes. “I’m ready.” 

A pair of headphones were fit onto her head. Unexpectedly, Takemi held onto Makoto’s wrist. Makoto, startled, almost opened her eyes, almost turned her head—but, remembering Takemi’s words, stiffened her body and kept still. The headphones muffled Takemi’s chuckle, but Makoto felt warm pleasure tingling in the back of her neck and shoulders, in her wrist where Takemi was still holding on. 

“You’re just of a good guinea pig as he was,” Takemi said. Her voice was rich with approval. Makoto was starting to see why Akira had visited her so often. The headphones blasted white noise into Makoto’s ears, and her world was the paper covering the exam table, crinkling under her back, the weight of the headphones, her shoeless, cold feet, and Takemi’s warm palm against her wrist. Then the shocks started, from the electrode on her forehead then one from her crown then her right temple, in no pattern she could think of. She bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering or making embarrassing noises and locked her knees together to—to distract herself from how good it felt. The shocks had stopped hurting; instead they built on each other, one burst of pleasure setting off another, a pleasure like diving into a cold swimming pool in the summer, sweetened condensed milk swirling up in her iced coffee like a rising dragon, like… 

Takemi dunked Makoto’s hand in freezing cold water. Makoto’s eyes flew open—her legs hit the table and she yelled out, hand splashing water onto herself and Takemi, before she found her control again. She was about to apologize, but she couldn’t get the words out. Her breath halted itself before it left her throat. She could feel Johanna between her thighs, in her left hand, in the strain of her core. It was so real that she almost thought she was in the Metaverse again—but no. Her breath came back. She yanked her hand out of the water and removed the headphones. She took an electrode between her fingertips and was about to pull it off when Takemi stopped her. 

“Calm down,” Takemi said, and pushed Makoto’s hand to her side. She removed the electrodes, working quickly. “That’s proof enough for me.”

“I don’t understand,” Makoto said. 

“When I was testing Akira, I thought it was unusual that he fainted so much more often than any of my other test subjects,” she said. “We did some tests together to see what the cause was. You Phantom Thieves have an unusual wave pattern triggered when your system goes into distress. Are you all right? I’ll get you some water.”

“I’m just fine.” She reached for Takemi’s hand, but Takemi evaded it; she tried to touch Takemi’s shoulders, but again, she escaped her grasp. Makoto tried to stand up, but the ground was further than she realized and she nearly fell down, if not for Takemi steadying her. 

“Back on the exam table,” Takemi said. “Close your eyes and don’t move just yet.” 

“I’m sorry,” Makoto said. She didn’t know what had come over her, only that it left her face and chest flushed. Her nipples itched inside her bra. Takemi pushed a water bottle into her hands. Makoto twisted the cap open and chugged. 

“People aren’t always themselves in this room,” Takemi said. “I’m sure out in the real world, you’re a perfectly behaved young lady. And you’ll grow up to be a contributing member of society, but with a secret seed of rebellion in you, I’m sure.” There was an ironic roll in the way the words left her mouth. Makoto opened her eyes. Takemi was still on her stool. Her legs were crossed at the ankle and her foot bobbed in the air. “Niijima-san, can I offer you some advice? You’ll never reform Japan as a police officer. Good officers are helpless. Everything works against them, their boss, other officers, the streets. Even if you make your way to the top, then you’ll be a rowboat in a sea of incompetence.”

“Is that from experience?” Makoto said instead of, You sound like my sister. Except her sister, back then, would have made a point about how, as a woman, Makoto would never be respected. Takemi wasn’t saying that. Not yet, at least. 

“You’re carrying a lot of tension. Something tells me you’re not going to be satisfied unless you can act out.”

“And something tells me you wouldn’t be giving this lecture to Akira.” She didn’t need to listen to this. Takemi was right: she’d be turning nineteen in April, and then at twenty she’d be a legal adult. She could already vote, and had voted. So, as an adult, or someone close to it, she didn’t need to listen to this. She picked up the bag full of medicine and put them on the exam table. “Here. This is everything Akira had left over. He didn’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Some of these are going to expire soon,” Takemi said. “What am I supposed to do with these now? Tell the guinea pig I said hello.” 

***

 

It was too late to change her choice of university, anyway. She had already signed the paperwork to officially bind her to the law department of a private university, with the intent to join the police academy instead of taking the bar. It was close enough to commute from home and Sae had explicitly told her she was welcome to stay at home while she completed her studies if she wanted to. It’d be nice, she said, for them to get to know each other on level ground. She had meant it, too, but when Sae had said that, Makoto had felt an overpowering need to run. If she got her own apartment, she might end up with a longer commute to class and, on top of that, if she wanted to do well in her academics, she might not have time to hold down a part-time job, so she’d just end up being a cost. If she stayed, she’d spend the next four years bumbling around this apartment like some detestable bug. The hot wash of feelings splashed over her without giving her a chance to feel happy about Sae’s offer. 

When she got home, Sae was on the couch, hunched over her laptop. That, too, was an unusual sight. The Sae of before worked almost exclusively in her room or in her office. 

“There you are,” Sae said, looking up. “Come over here. Help me decide on a business card design. I’m changing it. The one I’m using now makes me look like an architecture firm.” 

Makoto leaned over Sae’s shoulder. “The one on the bottom left looks more authoritative,” she said. 

“That’s the original,” Sae said, her brows tensing. 

“I’ll get dinner ready,” Makoto said, and rushed to the kitchen. 

After dinner, she called Akira to update him on the delivery of medicines. 

“You actually returned them?” Akira said. “Did Takemi-san get mad?” 

“She didn’t seem upset with me, but why would you tell me to return them if you thought she’d be mad?” Makoto said. 

“I don’t know. I remembered they were still in the attic and I didn’t want Sojiro getting in trouble for them if a health inspector went up there or something. Did you two get along?” 

“She hates me, I’m sure.” 

“That’s funny. She likes the straight-laced type.” So even Akira thought she was staid. She tried to not feel depressed about this. “By the way, are you sure you got everything at Leblanc?” 

“I retrieved everything from the attic, yes.”

“What about the stuff in the fridge?” 

“ _What_?” 

“Some of it was temperature-dependent. I usually gave them to Fox, so he could keep it nice and cold with his body, but once we were out… You like to hang out at Leblanc, anyway, and the clinic is nearby.”

“You can’t make me run your errands forever, you know,” she said, although that wasn’t entirely true. Seeing Takemi made something in her gut, right below the diaphragm, ache and churn. She felt bound up and tense remembering Takemi’s neutral touch in her hair, the padded exam table, the shape of the hem on Takemi’s dress. 

“Makoto, please. You’re the most reliable person I know.” 

She would have gone whether or not he had flattered her. But it didn’t hurt, either. 

 

***

 

She was technically still on spring break. Her days were, for once, wide open: no homework, no cram school, no Phantom Thieves business to take care of. When she went to Leblanc, Sojiro was serving some regulars. She explained the situation and he pulled at his goatee. 

“Don’t do anything now, for god’s sake,” he said when she suggested that she take the merchandise out of the fridge as quickly as she could. “I’ll close shop after these tables clear. Should be done in a jiffy. Here. Coffee on the house while you wait.” 

Half an hour went by, then another. The regulars were still there watching the morning television and drinking coffee. “What’s society coming to,” an old lady moaned as a reporter faithfully read the weather report. Finally, just when she was about to go for a walk, Sojiro got up and flipped the sign. 

“I’m going to make a delivery,” he said to the regulars. “Morning service is over.” 

“What about her?” one of the regulars complained, adjusting his tie. 

“She’s going to do the dishes.” He tossed her the keys and winked at her. Then he shut the door. 

She waited a few minutes to make sure no one was watching before opening up the fridge. Just as Akira had said, the medicine was all the way in the back, behind a giant jar of long-forgotten pickles. She stuffed everything into her bag, then checked the freezer just to be sure. Once she was done, she headed for the door. She was certain Sojiro could do the dishes on. 

She meant to go straight to the clinic, but the lock for Leblanc was fiddly. The key got stuck and she wound up standing in front of the door making a terrific rattle. Her phone beeped a few times.

Futaba  
  
Futaba  
Hey! Take this cheat code.   
To control key, rapid press ↑ on the D-pad, then move your Fighter against the obstacle with L1 while hitting △ down and to the left when prompted!   
Thanks for your help, Futaba.   
Futaba  
No problem!   
Uh… do you need more help? Shit, I probably made everything too complicated.   
Ok, what you need to do is push the key up and lean against the door with your body and kick the door nearby the hinges!   
Lol nvm you got this, Queen! Nice job!   
Thank you for cheering me on. A cheat code shouldn’t be too easy to use, after all.   


When she looked up from her phone, Takemi was there. Makoto clenched her phone.

“It’s the uptight girl,” Takemi said. 

“It’s Niijima,” Makoto said. “You’re not at the clinic at this hour?” 

“I usually take a break after the early morning appointments. What’s this place, then? … A Phantom Thieves hideout?” 

“It’s normal to enjoy coffee,” Makoto said, but she could feel her ears growing red. “I have something I need to drop off to you.” 

“Hmm? Then drop it off after one when my clinic opens again. Or even twelve thirty. I’ll be in the office then. I’m off right now.” 

“I might not have that long. It’s temperature sensitive.” 

“Hmm? Oh, I remember what you’re talking about now. It’s fine. It’s a dud. You can throw it out.” 

“That’ll just make me look suspicious,” she said. “At least take this with you.” 

She reached into her bag and marched over to Takemi, planning on forcing the cold vials of medicine, already damp with drops of condensation, into her hands; but Takemi moved fast. She slapped Makoto’s hands down, hard enough that Makoto’s hands opened up instinctively and the vials smashed on the ground. They stared at the broken glass and the medicine dripping into the street. Takemi’s hard stare softened. She said, “I’m sorry about that. I’ll get a dustpan from my office.” 

“There’ll be one in the café. Please hold on.” 

Luckily, opening the doors to Leblanc was easier than closing them. She found the broom and dustpan and brought it back out to the front. 

“So what’s your deal? Do you work here or something?” Takemi said. She had taken the broom and was briskly moving the glass into the dustpan Makoto held. 

“Oh, no. I’m just on good terms with the owner.” 

“So he knows? … Just kidding. Relax. I didn’t mean anything by it. I feel bad for being rough with you yesterday. Why don’t you stop by the clinic? I have something that can help.” 

She seemed sincere enough. Makoto’s lips were dry and she licked them. 

They finished cleaning. Makoto locked the door again. She got it on the first try, and was glad; she didn’t need Takemi to see her flailing at the door. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.” 

 

****

 

On their walk over, Takemi asked a few questions. She had remembered Makoto had just graduated and took interest: which university she was going into, how her friends were doing, what she was doing with her spare time. 

“For someone like you, university will be disappointing,” Takemi said. “You’re used to working hard all the time, but many universities are easygoing.” 

“Really? Even for medical school?” 

“No, not so much. But I had other ambitions. I didn’t join any clubs or circles or take up a part-time job. All I did was stay in the lab or library, and sometimes I’d go to my apartment to study. I was a good girl.” 

“So when did you start dressing like that?” Makoto said, letting her eyes make a deliberate top-down sweep. Her boldness surprised her; she knew she was crossing a line, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

To her surprise, Takemi laughed and didn’t respond. She seemed flattered. They had arrived at the clinic. 

Takemi put on her doctor’s coat; it swirled smartly around her legs. Then she sat on her chair and crossed her legs and tapped her pen against her desk. Although the set up was similar to their first meeting, it had a different charge. The white coat felt welcoming, instead of antagonistic. She still felt tense, but it was in her chest instead of her jaw. It floated instead of ached. 

“So,” Makoto said, sitting on the other stool. “What do you have for me?” 

“A proposal. One version, I write you a prescription. In the other one, I’ll give you a helping hand. Which one would you like?” 

“I’m not looking to be your patient. I already have a doctor.” 

“A helping hand, then.” She put on her gloves and then got out a bottle and a paper patient gown. Makoto felt her breath constrict. Her palms started sweating. She took a long look at Takemi’s hands. Then her eyes flicked up and got stuck on the neckline of Takemi’s dress instead. Takemi paused deliberately and said, “You realize what I meant by that, don’t you?” 

“I told you, I’m not here to be a patient,” she said. 

“In that case, go change in my office in the back, and I’ll knock when I’m ready.” 

She almost regretted that they weren’t going to do this on the exam table, but she supposed it would have made things too weird for Takemi. She had to see other patients here, after all. 

The office was kept colder than the rest of it. It had a depressing basement look, despite being on the third floor of the building: the thin metal desk covered with papers and files, the strangely old cloth-covered chairs, the walls covered by diagrams and charts with obscure equations and formulas. For some reason she had expected the office to be more of a goth paradise. The blinds were plain mini-venetians, and she twisted them shut. 

Her skin formed goosebumps as she stripped out of her clothes. The gown had short strings on the side, and she debated whether she should tie them or leave the gown open. Given how she thought—hoped—the rest of the encounter would go, she decided to leave them undone. Then she wondered whether she should take her underwear off or not. Before she could make a decision one way or another, Takemi knocked on the door. 

“Are you ready, Niijima-san? If you’re not, let me know.” 

“I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” she said. It was said in the slightly recessed way of someone listening close, with attention. Hearing this made Makoto relax. She tossed her headband onto her folded pile of clothes on the chair and leaned against the desk. 

“Open the door and check,” she said. 

The door opened. Takemi had traded the doctor’s coat for a short leather jacket. She locked the door behind her and stepped in front of Makoto and kissed her. She was a deft kisser, if somewhat cool, more technical than passionate. Makoto decided to pick up the pace. The zippers on Takemi’s leather jacket bit into her palms as she gripped the jacket and pulled Takemi in deeper. 

“You’re distracting me from treating you,” Takemi said, breathing heavily for air. 

“Feels like it’s working, then,” Makoto said, moving her hand deliberately down Takemi’s side. But Takemi took her wrist and held onto it and kissed her neck, then bit it. Her hips snapped forward, knocking Makoto against the desk. A few papers fell to the ground, and Makoto almost tried to get them, only to be silenced by Takemi reaching over her to put things on the desk chair. While she took stock of the inventory—some lubricant from the office, the gloves, a stethoscope, and a black box with black and red leads coming out of them—Takemi had snapped the gloves on and pushed her so close to the desk that the metal edge bit into the back of her thighs. Her nipples hardened under her gown. Takemi noticed right away. She dipped her finger into the Vaseline and moved her fingers expertly along her nipple, pinching them, first lightly, then harder and harder, then at different angles, until Makoto’s knees bucked. 

“Get on the desk,” Takemi said, and it was almost embarrassing how tractable she was to the sound of Takemi’s voice and the sting in her breasts. She hoisted herself onto the desk. “Move further back and turn over onto your stomach.” 

“What about all your papers?” 

“Forget them.” 

She moved further back until her head reached the stack of files at the end of the desk, and turned, with Takemi’s help when her knee slipped on a legal pad, onto her stomach. Takemi took the black box with the leads ending in white pads and said, “Are you ready to begin treatment?” 

“What are you going to do to me?” she said. 

“Electric therapy. It’s a common way for people to unwind after the preliminary tests have been run. Are you willing?” 

She doubted that it was that common, but she was curious about the rest; and she had a feeling that what Takemi really wanted was to run the test. 

“I’m ready,” she said. 

“We’ll start here and move our way up,” she said, running her finger along Makoto’s hamstring. She squirted some liquid from the bottle onto her gloved fingertips and rubbed the pads. She put one high up, almost on her ass, and the other a few inches below. The gel was cold and squelched against her skin; if not for the way Takemi’s eyes flashed, Makoto would have found it a turn off. “You’ll have six seconds between applications to report. When it becomes painful, let me know.” She turned a knob on the black box, and the first pulse came as a gentle buzz that made her hamstring twitch. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. It wasn’t nearly as bad as taking a Ziodyne head on, and she was glad for that. It wasn’t even as sharp as a Zio. 

“It’s good so far,” she said. “Warm.” 

“Good, good,” Takemi said, and adjusted the dial. The next current made her leg cramp and Takemi stopped it right away. The next one stung, but in a way she didn’t mind, and the one after that had her writhing; it felt good and almost too hot and hurt a little, but not enough to make her want it to end. Takemi’s hand fell upon her other leg, messaging it and playing with her ass: gripping it, leaving scratches, pinching. She occasionally changed the settings on the box, though not too drastically. Takemi stopped the flow and kissed her, this time warmly. She brushed the sweat out of Makoto’s eyes. “I’m going to move the pads. Turn over.” 

This time, she moved the pads along her thigh, on the opposite leg from before. They ran through another test cycle, this one more extensive than before; they spent longer working her through settings that made her leg cramp. It wasn’t so bad. After each bad shock, Takemi would massage her leg, or, as the sessions wore on, she’d stroke higher and higher up Makoto’s thigh, until her fingers cupped her labia. Makoto was a combination of shaky and ready, almost too ready. She ground down on Takemi’s hand, smearing it wet, in hopes of provoking Takemi into touching her deeper. But whenever she got too close, or whenever she tried to move so Takemi’s fingers almost entered her, the pulse would switch to painful: sometimes with heat, sometimes with a fast, brutal cramp. Still, she kept going until Takemi relented. She worked in a finger into Makoto, and suddenly Makoto was aware of how her cunt had its own pulse, how Takemi’s finger was adjusting its rhythm, was crooking against her walls… 

“You’re more resilient than I thought you’d be,” Takemi said. “You’ve been such a good girl.” 

She shouldn’t have liked those words, when she was still trying to shake off her natural tendency for seeking approval from authority figures. Especially now, when she was being praised for—what, exactly? For being young and thrashing on a desk, her lower body too hot and her shoulders, for some reason, freezing? She wanted to not need it. Instead she said, “Say that again, doctor.” 

“You’ve been a good girl, Niijima.” Her voice was scratchy and her face was pink, her lipstick smudged, and it was Makoto who had done that. She added another finger into Makoto and grabbed a nipple, pinching it between her nails. “I’ll write it in your patient file, I’ll write that you’re my best patient, you’re my special baby zebrafish…” 

And that was it. She came all over Takemi’s hand, her walls trying to match the current in her leg. Takemi moved her thumb to her clit. Her face was dispassionate, except for her eyes; they watched her with an intensity that made her feel as though she had been cut open or injured. 

Takemi turned the current off and removed the pads. Then she helped Makoto sit up and gave her a bottle of Kirin Salty Litchi. Makoto took two mouthfuls before asking, “What about you?” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Takemi said. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m tired, but that’s about it.” 

“You’ll want a few minutes to rest before you try to walk. While you’re waiting, though…” She cleared the desk chair of final implement left, the pink box, and put it on the table. Then she hitched her dress up and sat down. Her black underwear was wet, and she slid them down her legs, shifting her hips so Makoto didn’t have a clear view of her until her underwear was off entirely. Her pulse raced when she saw how wet she had gotten Takemi; Takemi’s hands had been busy with her the whole time, and she liked knowing she had this effect on others. Still, it wasn’t enough. 

“Can you take off the rest of your clothes?” 

She thought Takemi might refuse, on the grounds of propriety or professionalism. Instead she became almost shy. 

“I’m not going to put on a show for you,” she said, and she wasn’t lying: it was a pretty clinical disrobing. She let her leather jacket hit the floor, then twisted her arms behind her and unzipped her dress enough to push it off. Her shoes stayed on. She took one look at them and sat down in the chair. Then she removed the pads from the leads and replaced them, this time with longer strips. Just like before, she rubbed the conductive gel onto the pads. This time she placed them on herself, on the very outside of her folds. Once she did that, she peeled her gloves off, too, and handed the controlling box to Makoto. 

“Don’t move the top two dials,” Takemi said. “I like for the lower left dial to stay between twelve and three o’clock, and the lower right to stay between nine and two. Makes sense?” 

It did. Takemi held onto the armrests and shut her eyes, and Makoto took that as her cue to turn the machine on. Her face didn’t change much, aside from a slight crease in her brow, but the rest of her body flushed: Makoto noticed it on her chest first, spreading up and out. Her stomach flexed as she breathed. Then she looked down between Takemi’s legs, the wet pool gathering on the seat, and had to bite her lip. Her eyes felt dry. She didn’t want to blink, in case she missed something. She moved the dials, listening close for changes in Takemi’s breathing or the pace of her hips twitching. Before long, Takemi’s hips jerked up and she threw her head back. Her fingers dug into the armrest and the muscles in her forearm quivered. 

“Don’t turn it off yet,” she said, and Makoto held on, watching the orgasm shake through Takemi. And when it was over, Takemi took the box from Makoto and turned it off. Sweat pooled between her breasts. She kissed Makoto briefly, as a thank you. “Would you like to lay down for a while? I keep a cot in here.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Makoto said, while thinking, at the same time, that there was something really depressing about an office cot, especially here. She was glad Takemi had opted to use her desk instead. 

The cot was just as sad as she thought, although the pillow and throw blanket were cuter than she expected. Her legs were wobbly, although she managed to not fall over. Takemi didn’t join her at first. Makoto had to ask her to. And she had to ask, somewhat awkwardly, whether she could hold onto Takemi. Takemi didn’t seem like she hated it, only it was clear that it was out of her usual practice. 

“Do you date often?” Makoto said to break the silence. 

“That’s an awkward question for you to ask me right now,” Takemi said after a moment. 

“I didn’t mean for it to be awkward. I just thought… someone who sleeps in her office…” 

“‘Must not have a life?’ You’re not wrong about that. I’m in the middle of changing my career path and the practice, well… working in the community is a pay cut and prestige cut for sure, but I’ll make it work.” She shifted, rolling away slightly, just as Makoto wished she could move closer. She wanted to know more about that shift, what it was like, if there were any regrets… but from the set of Takemi’s shoulders, she was done talking about herself. “Are you doing okay?” 

“Yes, I’m all right. Thanks for the therapy.” 

“You know that this wasn’t an actual treatment? I need to make sure you know that.” 

They stayed together for a while longer before Takemi got up and put her clothes back on. Makoto followed suit, even though Takemi said she could stay longer. She was tired, but not tired enough to sleep in the office. She needed to go home and do her best to stop thinking about what she’d say to Akira if he found out. 

At the door, Takemi handed her back the new patient form Makoto had filled out the day before. 

“And do me a favor,” she said. “The next time you run into me on the streets, don’t call me ‘doctor.’”

“As long as I’m no longer ‘uptight girl,’ I can do that, Takemi-san.” 

“Good girl,” Takemi said. 

The journey home was a short one. She had plenty of space in the train car to herself. Her reflection was not nearly as composed as she hoped for it to be. Her collars were out of line and small, fine hairs sprung out from the middle of her head and to the ceiling. She had left the headband back at Takemi’s office, she realized. And she had forgotten to get Takemi’s contact information. 

Of course, she could buy a new headband. Or she could stop by the clinic again. She patted her hairs down. But she wanted to give Takemi another try. A date outside of Yongen-jaya, with or without the use of supposedly common medical equipment. She felt like she could learn from her on many fronts. 

Makoto took out her phone.

Akira   
  
Do me a favor, would you?  
Give me Takemi-san’s phone number. She has something of mine.  



End file.
